January 05, 2016

Wall of Death at Mahim Fair

I heard the first roar around
five in the evening as I walked in from a small stretch of polluted beach
toward the Wall of Death rising among stalls and amusement rides in the
fairground across the street from St. Michael’s Church and a short distance
from the Dargah in Mahim.

The Sun settled on my back, warm
and comforting. Walking through a short lane channeling visitors to the small
stretch of beach housing a fishing jetty, I emerged by the Wall of Death or
Maut Ka Kuaa (Well of Death) as it is better known in India.

Unmistakable sounds of a
motorbike revving up floated out from behind the large cylindrical drum held in
place by supports painted yellow and topped by a two-tier viewing gallery that
ran along the circumference of the well.

~

Behind me the Bandra-Worli
sealink stretched a long way, hazy in the Sun bearing down on faces turned
seaward.

Fishing boats bobbed in silence
ashore, their flags fluttering in the breeze. The sea seemed quiet.

The beach itself was small,
cluttered, and filthy from litter and open defecation. Detritus washed ashore
included a bone among other things. The atmosphere however was cheerful.

Vendors were setting up their
stalls and one boy was doing back-flips from the sloping ramp of the fishing
jetty, landing on his feet in the sand. His younger friend was constant
company, no doubt learning the trick from the “master”.

Others sat still, some by
themselves, some in groups, looking out to sea.

A group of children frolicked in
the waters off the polluted beach, waters I wouldn’t dare step in. Later they
emerged from the sea, and got into their clothes.

There was laughter and animated
conversation, cheerful youth in Muslim prayer caps and without, Muslim women
some in black, others in colour. There were children galore everywhere you
looked.

The crowd was overwhelmingly
Muslim and the ten-day long annual Mahim Fair commemorating Hazrat Makhdum
Fakih Ali Mahimi’s (Makhdoom Shah Baba) death anniversary (“Urs”) was an annual
pilgrimage to most of them.

The celebrations in honour of the
Sufi were underway at the Dargah a short distance away and the fair was where
many headed after paying respects to the Sufi.

~

I had arrived at the annual Mahim
Fair a little after three in the afternoon. The fairground was just about beginning
to stir to life then. Workers stretched out in the shade of the many amusement
rides rose to work among the rides, preparing them for evening crowds.

“Now, no one will be around. Why
would someone come here this early on a holiday (Jan 1), they would much rather
rest at home,” a man, likely part of the troupe managing one of the rides, told
me. “The crowd will pick up by evening.”

Makeshift eating places got busy
preparing their menu. Gaming stalls and those selling toys and other knick
knacks began to come to life. There was not much time to be wasted for, the
duration of the fair promises opportunities not easily available elsewhere.

I broke my stride at the Wall of
Death. The rumbles had grown persistent behind the high wall.

The observation deck (viewing
gallery) could be reached by a flight of steps that ended on the circular
boardwalk of the first viewing gallery. A short flight of steps led from the
first tier to the second.

The observation deck was enclosed
by railing painted white on the outside, allowing air to circulate amidst the
audience. It appeared to be raised separate from the Well of Death. Columns
painted blue supported the two-tier observation deck.

The whole setup of the Well of
Death seemed designed for easy assembly and dissembling once the show ended.

There was no one at the ticket
counter so I meandered in the vicinity of the well. I wanted to catch the first
act for the evening.

The sounds grew louder, the
revving of the bike and the rattling of the hardboards turned heads of
passers-by meandering among the stalls and amusement rides to their source
behind the walls.

Having found its voice, the
revving bike turned into a determined rumble, a beast growling, straining at
the leash, screaming as it breaks free, roaring forward fiercely, then turning
into a whine at the very moment it finds its stride, settling into a rhythm before
easing back into a steady mix of pulsating rattling where the tyres meet the walls
of the Wall of Death.

Like me, a few others were drawn
to the well by the rumbling from within.

A middle-aged man sat on the
steps that went up the Wall of Death, or Maut Ka Kuaa (Well of Death) as it’s
better known in India.
Two visitors to the fair got his attention, and pointing to the barrel-shaped
wooden cylinder, motioned with their hands asking, “When does it start?”

“They’re practicing,” he replied.

“Will it take long?” I
interjected.

“No. They’ll start shortly,” he
replied.

He waved me on up the steps to
take a look at the dare devil riders practice and photograph them. The Mauth ka
Kuan (Well of Death) promised to be a spectacle.

The 30+ feet climb up the near
vertical wall constructed with wooden planks was not too difficult to ascend.

A viewing deck (platform) ran
along the circumference of the cylindrical construction. Five youth were
already up on the deck, leaning against chest-high railing and looking down the
well.

Three Maruti cars, most likely
Maruti 800, with Gujarat registration plates were
parked in the centre of the well. A motorcycle that sounded very like Yamaha RX
100 but looked different was parked on the floor beside the wall.

Two middle-aged men stood by the
cars while two youth were by the motorbikes. It was a team of four.

The biker had just finished with
making a run in the Well of Death. It seemed like they were exchanging notes.

A giant Ferris Wheel rose beyond
the wall, lit golden by the setting Sun. Announcers hoping to draw visitors to
their amusement rides could be heard over the hum of the fair. The fairground
was buzzing.

A second tier for viewers rose
above the one I stood on. I tried to imagine what it must be like for the rider
zipping along the near vertical walls to have two tiers full of viewers gazing
into the well, holding their breath as the dare devils worked up pace.

I expected the viewing gallery to
begin filling up once ticketing commenced for the show. The riders weren’t done
practicing yet. I leaned against the railing and looked down the well.

A ramp rose from the floor of the
well at a gentler angle than the walls themselves. Riders use the ramp to begin
their ascent and gain speed before transferring to the near vertical walls at
which point they’re riding horizontal to the floor.

I didn’t have to wait long before
the Dare Devil rider, Anees as I would learn later, went back up the well and
sped along the wall of death, his hair swept back as he circled the well, his
bike gripping the wooden wall as he roared past in circles.

Centrifugal forces kept him from
falling down so long as he maintained a minimum speed.

His colleague had his phone up as
he traced the rider speeding along the wall, recording a video of the ride. I’d
be surprised if the rider didn’t already have recordings of his ride from
earlier performances. Maybe this one sought to record his Mumbai stint.

A young viewer watching the act
with his friend waved a ten rupee note at Anees, leaning over the railing,
expecting Anees to snatch it from his hand.

I hoped his hand would not knock
Anees from his perch on the speeding motorcycle, for, he was riding within
reach of those of us on the boardwalk on the first tier.

Anees did not take the bait. This
prompted the boy’s friend to point at the note and call out to Anees, “Arrey le
na.” (Hey, take it).

I waited to see if Anees would go
for the note on his next pass. He didn’t. The youth called out to Anees over
the din, pointing to the note, repeating, “Arrey, le na.” All eyes on the
observation deck were on Anees and the hand waving the ten rupee note. [WATCH:
Video]

And when Anees did snatch the
note from the hand later, it happened quickly. The youth smiled. Now he had a story
to take back home of how he had dared the rider to make the snatch.

After circling several times, Anees
began to draw downward, descending the well before riding off the take-off ramp,
and onto the floor of the well. His colleague walked over and they both got
busy with the video of his ride.

People began trickling in just as
the second rider prepared to begin his ride.

Some took to the second gallery.
I stayed on the first so I could get a closer look at the riders as they came
close to the outer edge of the well, within handshaking distance of viewers
standing in the first tier.

The temperature was pleasant and
anticipation was writ large on the faces. The second rider was the real deal.

He rode to dare and to please.
Here was the well, his very own to do as he wished, never slacking off or
taking it for granted as he swung his leg off the bike and rode with both legs sideways,
facing downward. You’d think gravity would have him, but it didn’t.

Then he lifted his hands in the
air and folded them across his chest. He was riding fast, both legs sideway and
hands off the handlebars. I could sense the crowd tense.

The rider completed several
rounds of the Wall of Death, thundering past me, within reach, riding along the
very edge of the well. The boardwalk under my feet rattled. So did the railing
supporting my hands as I peered into the well.

The crowd came alive seeing one
of the three Maruti 800 cars enter the fray. It eased into the thick of action
along the ramp before speeding up and taking centre stage. The motorcycle and
the car zipped past, rattling the hardboards ever more.

I could fee the wind rush in the
wake of the circling vehicles, a rush of adrenaline standing there and marvelling
at the dare devilry.

Then, a second car eased onto the
ramp and entered the fray. The Wall of Death would see two cars and a motorbike
perform together.

In the second car Anees rode in
the passenger seat. As it picked up speed trailing the car ahead and the
motorcycle upfront, Anees leant out of the window, collecting the ten rupee baksheesh
offered by the same youth who had dared him when he was riding the bike, alone
at the very beginning.

The youth was running through his
ten rupee notes. He looked happy giving them away, only ever expressing
disappointment when he let go of one before the other rider, biker, could reach
for it. The note took a log time to float to the ground.

I could feel the tremors from the
well heralding the approaching motor vehicles, progressively building tension
as tremors got stronger the nearer they approached. The Wall of Death took a
pounding.

As the three vehicles roared at speed along the walls,
viewers held their breath as planks rattled with increasing ferocity. [WATCH: Video]

It was mayhem at Wall of Death.

Behind me the Sun had sunk in the
sea. They dying twilight had changed the shade of light mellow, fading out with
the show the team had put out at the fairground. The Sufi, I reckoned, would’ve
approved of it.

As the last car slowed down, easing
off the ramp to join the two on the floor of the well, a viewer turned to me
and said, “Yeh Hai Mehnat ka Paisa” (this earning is worthy of the labour earning
it).

The Dare Devils had earned
respect.

No sooner had the riders wound up
their act they disappeared through a hatch in the Wall, emerging outside to
advertise their second act for the day. Mike in hand, Anees took to the public address system
exhorting visitors to the fair to step into “Maut Ka Kuaa” (Well of Death).

The tickets for the act were
going at Rs. 50/- apiece.

Night had set in and the
fairground was throbbing with life. Muslim families, women in burqa and
without, crowded the attractions. And they were many, each vying for attention.

The ticketeers, a man and a
woman, for the Well of Death, were busy. A small crowd had gathered around
them.

Many just stood and watched, likely making up their mind of buying the
tickets. At Rs. 50/- a piece, it would cost a family of three, 150/-, a not
inconsiderable sum to many among the visitors.

Anees’s voice was growing hoarse
the more he exerted visitors to the fair to come see his gravity-defying team of
riders perform in the Well of Death.

The barrel-shaped cylinder shone
in the night. Coloured tubelights outlined its presence in the night.

A steady stream of curious visitors ascended the steps that led
to the first tier for the second act of the night. Soon the galleries would be
full and Anees would be back in action, hoping the night would stretch long.

As the night deepened its hold on
the fairground off the Mahim beach, a vendor adjusted a cheap portable lamp and
set up his little shop in the shadows.

2 comments:

Anan
said...

You brought back old memories. I once watched this in one of the melas. I was very small then. It is really amazing how these guys do it. They call it "maran koop" also..and I remember one of the riders shouting to the spectators@aa gaye mere maut Ka tamasha dekhne

About Me

At the turn of the century I returned to Bombay from Goa, not an easy decision to make. A software company let me in, then another, then yet another. Time ran past. This time around I was wise enough not to give chase. So occasionally I take my camera along, searching for corners, finding them where none exist. And some of them are painted blue.